The Fire Within

by Samuel T Clayton

  Tristan opened it. Unlike his own writing, this was done by a fanciful hand.

  Dear Mr Conway,

  It is my sincere hope that this letter finds you well. I have delightful news to share. Accommodation has been arranged with Mrs Beeckman for a splendid little cottage next to their own home, at an excellent price of 2s. 2d. per week. Please leave your cargo in the warehouse where it will be safe and out of your way. Miguel will give you the directions to your new home.

  You will find her a pleasant lady to deal with, and I am sure you will find the lodging to your liking.

  Yours unfeignedly

  Alfred C. Cuthbert

  ‘Thank you, Miguel.’

  He looked around the warehouse to get a better idea of the man’s stock, perhaps even spot some of the goods that he had requested. Miguel followed him around and dutifully answered any questions that Tristan asked. What he did not know was that the young, white man was testing his knowledge and that his pride in showcasing both his proficiency in English and his understanding of Mr Cuthbert’s business, helped Tristan tremendously in getting insight into the merchant’s dealings. When his curiosity was satisfied, and he decided to leave, he asked one last question.

  ‘Miguel, the Portuguese fort at the foot of the hill. What is its purpose?’ It was like somebody had cast a shadow over the young negro’s face.

  ‘When the first missionaries came, our village already existed, sir. Perhaps these men of God lived in fear because when the first church was erected, they also built the fort. I believe it was built to protect their own people against my people, the Bakongo. We’ve heard of other tribes to the east where they’ve driven the white men out of their lands. Perhaps they want the fort to serve as a reminder to our chief not to interfere too much with the dealings of the white people.’

  ‘Your chief? Are you not a slave? I’m sure I heard Mr Cuthbert say that all slaves have been removed from the village.’

  ‘Not a slave, sir. I’m a free man to come and go as I please. I was a slave at the Dutch factory until five years ago, when Mr Cuthbert purchased my freedom, and for that, I owe him eternally.’

  ‘I see.’

  Tristan thought they were done, but to his surprise, Miguel carried on talking. ‘Our chief no longer supplies any slaves from his own people. Lately, the fort has been used as a holding pen for slaves from neighbouring tribes, sir. They used to be kept at the wharf, but it caused too many problems. The soldiers also protect the Portuguese slavers before they head inland to capture slaves, and after, while they wait for the ships to arrive. When the wind blows right, you can sometimes hear their cries in the stillness of the night, sir. At the moment, most of the slavers trade along the coast, so our nights are quiet and peaceful, but once the summer rains ease up, the traders will be back.’

  Tristan was surprised by the young man’s intelligence and wondered if Cuthbert knew that his lover had unwittingly become his apprentice.

  After he had received the directions to the Beeckman household, Tristan headed back to their temporary quarters. The doctor was standing outside in the shade, holding up a small cage made from the finest wicker. Pensively he studied it. Tristan’s noisy arrival startled him slightly, but he quickly placed the cage on the ground, glad to see the young man back in one piece.

  ‘Good to see you, lad!’

  ‘It looks like we both had successful excursions this morning,’ replied Tristan and pointed to the cage in which a lizard with an orange head looked rather grumpy. Next to it, three smaller cages contained butterflies of different colours.

  ‘Ahhh, this place will be the death of me. There are so many exciting creatures to discover.’ Purvis looked at the containers at his feet. ‘I fear this is but a measly drop in the ocean.’ He picked up one of the small wooden cages with a beautiful blue-winged butterfly that opened and closed its wings with a rhythm all its own. ‘Have you ever seen a creature so magical, yet so majestic as if it belongs on the head of a king or queen?’ Tristan joined him as they both looked at it with admiration before the doctor tenderly placed it back with the others. ‘But enough about my excursion, lad. Let me look at that cut of yours. What?’ Purvis’s surprising outburst startled Tristan and made him wonder if something bad had happened to the wound. The doctor touched Tristan’s cheek, gently pushing underneath the cut. ‘It sure closed up nicely, and no swelling or redness. How in the world—’

  ‘Isabella put a paste on it. And I knew you would ask, so I enquired about its constitution. She said they get it from the natives and that ‘tis made from ground bark, herbs, honey and beeswax.’ Tristan could almost hear the man’s brain churning through the information.

  ‘Well, we best get a cauldron of the stuff to take with us then.’ Purvis lightly touched the wound again. ‘I’ve never seen a wound close up so quickly and without getting festered or not even showing any sign of redness. A remarkable feat, indeed.’ It did take a lot to excite the doctor and Tristan could see he was truly astounded, almost beyond control, like the man was about to start shaking. ‘Only two days in this place and a whole new world has opened to my eyes.’ As Purvis stepped back, he took an inquisitive look at his compatriot. There was something else afoot. ‘You know, for a man who has been drinking, fighting and fornicating all night, then went on a five-hour hike up a mountain, you look quite invigorated. Did you get a second breath up there, a new perspective perhaps?’

  With a wry smile, Tristan nodded, then shook his head in wonder. The man truly is a genius.

  With a barrel as table and crate as chair, Tristan spent the rest of the afternoon inside the room, drawing up the tasks that needed to be done and proceeded to put a name against each task. He took out the list of items that Cuthbert was going to procure, then marked the ones they were going to buy or arrange for themselves and put his own name alongside those. He looked forward to bargaining with the store and stall owners. Holding up the new parchment and inspecting his handiwork, Tristan decided that he would nail both lists to the wall of the new home. That way, everyone could track their overall progress.

  When Tristan went outside, he saw the doctor’s sketchbook on top of his cages but no sign of the man himself. Laughter from behind the crates at the back of the firepit lured him, and he found the doctor sitting with the four natives, playing their game with the small pebbles. Coactive cries of joy bridged the language barrier and the lambasting that had occurred the day before when they had nearly dropped his precious things was now long forgotten.

  ‘You got to try this game, lad,’ said the doctor when he saw Tristan approach. ‘It’s addictive, although I’m not sure if I understand all the rules yet.’

  ‘No, thanks. I’m heading off to arrange accommodation for tonight, and hopefully, the rest of our stay.’

  ‘Do you need me to come along?’

  ‘’Tis fine.’ Tristan had something else in mind too.

  ‘Isabella came to see you this morning.’

  ‘Thanks, doc. The lads have told me.’

  ‘Be sure to greet her first, and properly.’

  Tristan could only smile and quickly headed back into the room, stripping off his guns and sword before he sauntered up the same road he and Jabari had taken this morning.

  In front of the Silveiras’ house, instead of turning right like earlier in the day, he turned left and headed down a dirt road, a handful of houses to his right and the busy market on his left.

  The Beeckmans lived three houses down from the Silveiras, which delighted him because it meant their new lodging would be less than a stone’s throw away from his lover’s.

  The typical Dutch style house with its barnlike construction was built on a rather large plot adorned with the usual collection of fruit trees and a large number of dark green shrubs with lilac flowers which entertained hundreds of butterflies, bees and small birds. Upon his knock, a negro servant answered the door almost immediately and invited him in.

  Mrs Beeckman was indeed a delightful lady, even mo
re so when he paid her four weeks’ rent in advance. Her imperfect English compounded by a heavy Dutch accent did not hold her back from indulging in a bit of tattle, and through her, Tristan got to learn more about the town and its inhabitants. What Cuthbert did not tell him in person, or his short letter, was that Mr Beeckman owned the Dutch warehouse down at the docks along with a leather factory and a general store, both of which were run by their two sons. Tristan quickly realised it could not have been an easy deal for Cuthbert handing guaranteed coin to his competition for the accommodation. At least the merchant was still about to make a good bundle out of their expedition, and undoubtedly the man had had the bigger picture in mind when he had arranged their quarters. Tristan politely refused a cup of tea by using pressing business matters as his excuse, collected the key from the lady and bid her farewell.

  Next, he headed to the Silveira’s house, keeping an eye out for the lads but they were nowhere to be seen. At the Silveira household, a huge African woman told him that no one was home, so he left a message for Isabella. As the woman hardly spoke a word of English and probably had no idea who he was or what he was saying, he kept on repeating his name. Next, he headed back to the warehouse, rummaged through his possessions and found the empty logbook that the captain had given him. He took up a position under the shade, not far from where the five men were still playing their game a little quieter now as the game took on a more serious tone, with the doctor under intense scrutiny as the natives started to realise that he was no fool.

  Tristan leaned back against the tree, logbook opened on his legs, inkwell pressed into the sand to prevent it from spilling and started to document everything that had happened since they had left the Raven, just like any good captain would.

  By dusk, they had finished moving into their new home. The cottage itself had three bedrooms with basic furnishings, a small parlour and a large kitchen with a hearth and chimney in one corner, and a large table with two benches on the opposite side. Each bedroom came with two beds, and each bed had a bedstead. ‘To keep the creatures at bay,’ Mrs Beeckman had said.

  Tristan had the smallest of the three rooms to himself, right at the back of the house. Hanlon and Tayler occupied the other room at the back, while Jabari and Purvis shared the front room. The lads made no objection when the doctor suggested that Tristan should have a room to himself. Compared to the cramped conditions on the Raven that they had shared for so many years, they almost did not know what to do with all the space and found discomfort in the convenience at first.

  Later that evening after they had shared all the gathered information and Tristan had taken them through his now reputable lists, which had been nailed to the kitchen wall, the group set off for the tavern. Much to his surprise, there had only been comments and no complaints about the allocated tasks, like each man already knew that their success depended on every individual doing his part.

  Tristan also felt more jovial now that the burden had been shared and promised the men one final night of indulgence before work would commence in earnest the next day. He did not refrain from any of the lewdness and liquored up well, and later that night when he and Isabella found themselves in each other’s arms once again, he loved like it was his last night as a mortal. Finally, when their love’s fiery wick had all but burnt out, and he slowly drifted off, the last thing he heard apart from his own beating heart was Isabella’s relaxed breathing and the singing voices from the nearby village. Then through the beautiful, rhythmic, yet harmonious song, the distant cry of a lonesome jackal told a tale as old as the country itself. It was like a cradle song, an African lullaby.

  Chapter 23

  Supporting his weight on a long fire-hardened stick, Tristan watched on as the single file of porters and animals, more than a hundred yards long, walked past, all breathing heavily as they started to make their last ascent for the day. Beyond the hill, they would set up a permanent camp, and the day after, they would start making excursions into the surrounding savannahs in the hope of finding the elusive elephants that had been using the thick jungle much to their advantage. Two of the trackers had gone ahead three days ago and had returned this morning with welcomed news. They had seen the animals’ tracks – fresh ones this time. Not a month-old trampled bush or scuff marks from tusks on a dried tree trunk. Fresh ones!

  For the last couple of days, he had made a point of walking backwards and forwards along the line, encouraging his men as he passed. Sometimes just a nod and a smile could put new vigour in a tired man’s legs. They needed all the encouragement they could get for they were deep in the jungle, deeper than most of these men had ever gone.

  Tristan knew that the perils of this place messed with their minds, especially of those who understood these dangers better than their white counterparts. They had already lost a donkey and a water bearer to a lone male lion. Its triumphant oomphs had taunted and terrorised them for two nights, a stark reminder of where they found themselves. At least the lone male lion’s pelt was salted now and stored in a crate, while his pulled teeth had been turned into a necklace by Jabari. The yellowish-white teeth, which now shimmered around the warrior’s neck, was a perquisite for firing the final kill shot, but for the bearer, it was a rite of passage that had almost completed his transition. The pelt had joined warthog tusks, and various deer and wild boar hides that the group had already accumulated during the three-week journey. They had also shot countless gamebirds, like guinea fowl, which had dark, tough and gamy meat, but very little use otherwise. Peacocks and pheasants, however, had their coloured feathers removed, which were then carefully packed in sealed crates ready for the European plumassiers. While they were spoilt with freshly grilled meat every night, Tristan knew that they needed larger and more exotic beasts if they wanted to fill their coffers. Patience was essential, and on more than one occasion, it reminded him of his days on the Raven, when the sea looked like a mirror, and not a single breeze tucked on a sail.

  The lion’s kill had been a good morale booster for the crew. They were far away from civilisation, and the jungle had slowed them down to snail’s pace as the men struggled to clear a track through the heavy undergrowth. Tristan knew that an idle man’s brain worked overtime, and the natives were no different, so he rotated them frequently.

  While Tristan stood quiescent and watched the men walk past, the heavy-laden animal hooves slipping on the wet undergrowth, it was his time to reminisce on the past couple of weeks.

  Things in Africa did take a while to organise, even longer than Cuthbert had anticipated. But as promised, the merchant got them every single item. An interpreter from the nearby village joined them the day after they had moved to their new accommodation. Tristan quickly put the man to use, finding out what his newly acquired helpers could and could not do, and they were designated the role of porters for there was not much skill among the lot.

  Tristan put Hanlon in charge of a ledger which he had started. It contained the name of every man in their employ, including their own, and the wage that person would earn.

  ‘I hope you are as precise with numbers as you are with your shooting,’ joked Tristan, after he had shown the man what he needed him to do.

  ‘I guess we’ll find out,’ said Hanlon when he took the ledger. They both knew there was no one else, for neither Jabari nor Tayler could read or write, and as for Tristan and the doctor, they already had their fair share.

  Their first bit of luck came when a British hunting party, which had hunted out of a settlement further upriver, were returning to the coast with their bounty and stopped to overnight at Embomma. Many elephant tusks lay covered under canvas sails and while the heavy-laden flotilla of wooden canoes told of their success, so did the men’s faces of their ordeal. Their expedition leader, an old and hardened trader, sold Tristan most of their leftover gun powder and shots, but only after Hanlon had retrieved a pistol from the warehouse and fired a shot at the nearby tree to ensure the powder was still in good nick and not rendered useless by the mont
hs of exposure to the elements. In addition, Tristan bought all of their excess provisions, at a heavily reduced price as the men had no further need for it.

  Upon enquiry as to why they were not unloading their cargo at Embomma, the man said that they were making their way to the coast. A merchant ship had been arranged beforehand to meet them on a mutually agreed date at Sonho. It would take them and their cargo to London where he’d deal exclusively with a private merchant who traded out of Bloomsbury. Tristan got the merchant’s name from the man, noting that he too had more options should he find the merchants of Embomma not willing or agreeable to his terms, but this was the least of his worries for ivory did not spoil. Then the man said something strange, something that Tristan did not think too much of at the time. ‘’Tis good to have a set date to return for one can easily lose oneself in that jungle.’ His words were quickly forgotten as the conversation moved to the hunting grounds.

  Far beyond any price were the hunting group’s knowledge of the savannahs to the east, the dangers they had encountered and their dealings with neighbouring tribes. It was the summer season, and the leader warned Tristan of fever. It was something they had prepared for as well as they could, with ample amounts of cedar bark to burn at night. However, Purvis had a theory. During their years of trading along the west and east coasts of Africa, they had all been spared, and the doctor believed that they had built up some defence against all the different types of fever and delirium, and that the weeks in Embomma would season them properly before they depart on their daring journey.

  That same night they had dinner with the leader and his crew at Touro Tesão Taberna, and most of the evening was spent learning more about the area to the east, its people, its riches and perils. Tristan specifically asked about the savannahs to the northeast he and Jabari had seen, but the group had nothing to share except for their own ideas. Tristan bought them round after round of drinks which firmly loosened their tongues. The five men learned of the most amazing animals: those that looked like a long-necked camel mixed with a leopard, their legs taller than a full-grown man as they galloped majestically across the savannah; zebra, lions, leopards and antelopes of various kinds. And when the topic of elephants came up, it got the group’s utmost attention, evoking many questions about the best ways to hunt these colossal animals.